


Scars of Cain

by Lori_S21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feelings dun dun duuun, M/M, Mark of Cain, Oral Sex, Sex, Spoliers for series 9, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain begins to effect Dean in ways he would never imagine, bringing primal urges to the surface...<br/>Or the one where Castiel leaves, and the one where he stays.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Put it all on me. I’m here for you. I’m yours…” </em></p><p> </p><p>Slight spoilers for Blade Runners. Originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Hi everyone. This little tale popped into my head after Blade Runners so I had to get it out. Let me know if you like.**
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> **Cascade is on hiatus due to a phenomenal lack of interest and three long months of a serious illness on my part (gets out violin!). But I'm back now... :)**

It begins with wrath.

It’s a terrifying rage. An all-consuming, stomach churning, burning fury. Instead of losing control, he is engulfed within a sickening, murderous clarity. Cool and calm, spiked with hate.

_Kill Magnus._

He does. And it feels good. So damn good.

The blade turned him into a murderer. The worst thing was: he liked it. 

It made him feel powerful. In control. No one would be able to hurt him or his brother now, not when he had the first blade. A killing machine, as Crowley said. But now Crowley is gone, the blade with him. And all that’s left is the craving, the pangs, the dark yearning for his arm to be complete again. To hand himself over to that darkness once more, where there is no guilt, no vulnerability - just the kill.

The aftershocks of the blade don’t fade. He feels shaky, drained as though suffering from withdrawals. He craves the weapon. He craves much more…

Sam thinks the blade may have pushed primal responses to the surface. He may be right. For one thing, he’s always hungry. Not just a Dean Level of Hungry either. He ate everything in the bunker. Sam said he was worried Dean would eat the bunker. And he’s growing. His muscle mass is increasing steadily though he does very little exercise. It’s as though his body is preparing for something. When Sam looks at him, it is with a mixture of fear and concern. He doesn’t know which disturbs him more, but he can’t bear it.

He’s becoming more reckless too, craving the adrenaline. He chases the monster alone, drives Baby a little faster, starts bar fights just because he can. Is it thrill-seeking or has the blade just made him plain stupid? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

He thinks it will get better once Cas comes back. He’s so serene, a calm soothing presence with the knowledge of heaven within his mind. He will be able to help. Just him being there will help, Dean tells himself. He’s clueless with people but somehow always manages to say the right thing with Dean. 

His presence does not help.

The minute Castiel steps into the bunker, Dean wants him.

The bone-deep sensation hits him like a fist. He craves him in a deep, carnal and shockingly primal way. It’s in his guts. His blood plunges south. He feels dizzy, short of breath, heart pounding. He can’t take his eyes from the man. He has never felt this way about anyone. Never. A wave of lust washes over him so fiercely; it’s all he can do to stop his knees from buckling. Or from taking action, pushing the angel back into the wall and taking him right there, showing him what a real man feels like. A true introduction to fucking. Something real, unlike that little reaper of his. 

Jealously and revulsion push at the edges of his lust-filled mind. This is _Cas._ This isn’t him. It’s so wrong. Sam is here too. They both look at him with matching expressions of confusion. He has to leave the room, mumbles his excuses as he staggers away. Get to his bedroom - anywhere - away from his best friend.

It’s the way Cas looks at him, wide-eyed, caring and innocent, despite being anything but. Cas is danger. Cas is _gorgeous_. He always knew it but never admitted it. He wants to make him come undone at the edges. He’s seen the way Cas looks at him, like he could be everything to him. He wants to make the angel lose that careful tight control, mess him up a little. Make him messy, open, vulnerable and human… _His._

Dean’s achingly hard by the time he gets to his room. He laughs at the ludicrous situation, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He feels like a god-damn teen – no, _Neanderthal_. It’s ridiculous. It’s horrible. The door opens. It’s Cas. Of course it is.

"Get out." He commands, voice husky, staring at his feet. His face is on fire. Not just his face. His whole body feels as if aflame. He feels tight. His clothes are constricting against his skin, causing him to practically moan as he paces the room looking at anything but the angel.

It doesn’t stop him hearing that voice.

"What’s wrong?" The low, gravel tones make his stomach writhe. He’s close, too close…

"I want to be alone." Dean keeps the bed safely between them as Cas edges closer. He stares at the floor. The floor is safe.

"Sam and I are concerned for you. Is it the mark? Are you unwell?" He can practically imagine the head tilt, how his hands would nervously clench at his sides. The steady, worried, deep blue, x-ray vision aimed his way.

“Cas, I’m warning you, leave.” His voice shakes, his body too. He clutches his bedside table, practically gouging marks in the wood with his fingernails. It roots him to the spot. Stops him from launching at his best friend. He feels sick with lust, seeing red. He closes his eyes and takes cool air in. Doesn’t help.

A calloused hand timidly brushes his brow and Dean nearly knocks the table over, backing away from Cas. _How did he move so fast? Why is he taunting me?_

“You’re burning up Dean.” Cas chides, sounding worried. _Can you blame me?_ – Dean wants to respond. Instead he makes the mistake of meeting those eyes, really seeing that face. The affection and concern in those deep eyes. The stubble and thick bed-head. The buttons left undone beneath that coat. He’s smaller than Dean, but more powerful. Or is he?

Cas begins to look confused. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, licking those full, shapely lips nervously. So close. Dean catches the movement and his fevered mind snaps.

He grabs that face, smashes his lips against Castiel’s. It’s violent and Cas practically yelps under his kiss, but Dean captures that too, slides his tongue inside, plunders. It’s warm, wet messy and so perfect Dean could cry. He knows where he wants that mouth next and the state he’s in won’t make him shy about asking – no, _begging_ Cas to consent.

His fingers grip Cas’ soft hair and he just about bucks into the sturdy warmth of him. Any other man would have been taken aback by such a sudden, forceful kiss, but not Cas. He’s still in the same place. He’s not just a man. He’s so strong, it makes Dean want him more. He's never wanted anyone so badly his entire life.

Then he’s the once being gripped. Cas hands hold his face in place, pull him away with ease though his face looks flushed and he’s just as breathless as Dean is. He looks angry. His lips are damp and swollen, eyes shocked, pupils dilated, still so close they’re sharing breath.

“What was that?” He’s still holding Dean’s head away from his own. They would look ridiculous if Sam walked in, but Dean doesn’t blame Cas. He’s the only thing stopping him from launching again. His hands are free to wander though. He slides his hands under Cas’ shirt, pressing his fingertips into the warmth of his skin, the softness of his stomach. Castiel gasps, tries to shuffle away but Dean has already seen the way his eyes fluttered. He wants this too.

“I need you.” He growls out, angrier than he intended. Why is he always the one who has to say it? Why can’t Cas ever just _stay_?

He breaks away from Castiel’s iron grip, new strength kicking in, and kisses him again. Hard. He pulls him in by the waist, fingers sliding on skin, allows Cas to feel the whole length of him. The angel shivers against him. Cas mouth is heavy like a storm. He’s not kissing back. It only takes him a moment to push Dean firmly away again so he’s staggering once more. The rejection is brutal and clear enough.

“What is this?” He sees Cas' eyes flicker down to where Dean is hard, before obviously snapping away again, jaw set and cheeks reddening. He likes it.

“I want you.” Dean answers. He tries to sound seductive but knows his voice is filled with hurt. Desperation.

“No you don’t.” Cas counters, breathing heavy. His eyes are sad but his tone is firm. “It’s that isn’t it?” He nods at Dean’s arm, eyes focused on the Mark of Cain with sad resolve. “Sam says it’s changing you, making you do things you would never do.”

“I’ve always wanted you.” Dean answers bitterly, automatically. He knows he’ll regret this honesty when his blood has cooled, when his body is no longer screaming for Cas, but right now he can’t care. He’ll admit anything to get Cas to stop looking at him like that. Like he’s devastated this isn’t real (he hopes that’s what that look means anyway. They’re not fools. They both know how the other feels. They’ve just never been brave enough to admit it).

Cas’ eyes are wide (hopeful?) at that. “This isn’t you,” he answers flatly, backing away sadly.

Dean can’t let him leave. Won’t. “Well, maybe it is the mark talking. Maybe it is making me braver, stupider, a little more honest. Thank God it’s good for something.” His voice catches then, causing Cas to meet his eyes. “I’m scared Cas,” he admits. “I’m so God-dammed scared of how it’s changing me.”

Cas comes closer, eyes filled with pity. He places a cautious hand on Dean’s arm. “We’ll find a way to remove it. Nothing’s worth losing the real you, letting it change who you are. Not even killing a Knight of Hell.” There’s defiance and that steely determination Dean has come to love in that sweet face of his. Dean pushes down the insane lust his touch incites, focuses on what needs to be said.

“It hasn’t changed how I feel about you.” _Please say something back._

Dean moves closer until he’s in Cas’ personal space again, eyes locked, world slowing. _Control yourself. Gentle. This is important. Don’t fuck it up…_

“But…this isn’t you. I can’t – ” Cas’ hands are clenching-unclenching by his sides, and he shuffles uncomfortably. Dean could laugh, it’s so adorably familiar.

“What Cas?” He asks softly, cupping his cheek, leaning closer. Cas slides nearer in response. “What?”

“I can’t take advantage of you like this.” His voice sounds firm but he doesn’t pull away, Not even when Dean presses a gentle kiss against his cheek. His eyes fall shut. Lashes brushing Dean’s cheek. “You need to stop.”

“You want me to keep going.”

“I always want you.” Castiel answers automatically and Dean has time to think thank God. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

Then Cas is kissing him, softly lips moving, pouring a sweetness into every caress. He gently tastes Dean, cupping his jaw with sure fingers. Dean melts against him until he feels Cas’ hand over the mark. Cain’s mark. Cas steps back neatly.

“And that’s why we can wait a little longer.” He strokes the mark, no fear or horror, and slides his hand down his arm into Dean’s hand. He gives it a squeeze before turning away.

Dean can only gape as Castiel leaves the room. He strongly suspects Cas would loved to have zapped out of the room, a snappy exit, it he still had his wings.

He leaves Dean puzzled, painfully turned on and shaking. All he can think is: _I’m getting this bastard mark OFF me._

After he takes down a Knight of Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note the rating change? Uh, yeah.**
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> **This for all those who said they wanted more. Hope it doesn't disappoint. Feedback is always appreciated from generous readers.**
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> **Also, please check out Cascade if you like Destiel. I think you will like...**

When Cas next finds him, Dean is battering the stuffing out of a punch bag. 

At least it _is_ only a punch bag, Dean thinks sombrely each time he strikes. He’s starting to think it’s not enough. There’s no challenge. The bag takes his punches but doesn’t fight back. There’s no rush, no adrenaline, just this. Endless frustration, anger and an underlying current of fear. He grunts with every hit, sweating from exertion as the bag swings wildly on its strained, clanking chains.

He senses him, thinks he can actually smell Cas. That’s all manner of disturbing but it just might be true. He enters the small training room so quietly, yet Dean is aware of his presence immediately. Not that Cas smells, but it’s unmistakable. A tang of warm sunlight on skin, fresh electric air and salt. Unless the mark has fucked up his imagination too. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, his skin prickles.

“You need to stop.”

Those words send a shiver of lust and impatience down his spine as he remembers the last time he heard them a day ago. Cas’ body pressed against his, mouth open and wanting. He’s suddenly aware of the way his clothes constrict and cling to his body, drenched in sweat. He’s tired underneath it all, so tired, hands throbbing. He forgot to wrap tape around his fists and when he looks at them, realises his knuckles are split open. The bright gashes of red bring him back to himself. His nerves are thrumming from the strain of today’s vigorous training session, and the intensity of the situation. 

“I could hear you from the study,” Castiel states, something accusatory in his tone. Dean has been avoiding him as much as possible. But how can he when Cas seeks him out like this? It isn’t fair. He could weep with the frustration. He’s trying to be good, he really is. A dark greed pushes at the edges of his awareness, but that’s only the surface. It disguises a much deeper need, a craving for reassurance, a desperation to have someone hold him, to feel something real and find a release that won’t end in pain.

 _Everything_ ends in pain.

He can hear Cas padding closer, closes his eyes and leans against the punch bag, locking his arms around it loosely. He can’t bear to look at Cas. _If I look, I’m lost. I want him. I need him. But I don’t want to need him._

“Not a crime,” He finally murmurs in response to Cas’ question, heat simmering through him. He can hear his own heart beating. The mark thrums gently, like an itch under his skin that he just can’t scratch. His breathes heavily.

“No,” Cas agrees softly. “But you’re hurting yourself.”

He feels Cas’ fingers prodding at his torn hands. It’s like a current is running through him and he snaps. “Are you kidding me?” He steps back, shoving the bag at Cas as moves far away from the angel, anger building like a storm. 

Cas looks contrite, head tilted in unmistakeable confusion. He didn’t even stagger. “I get it Cas, you don’t want me like this, I know. So stop making it so damn hard.” _If you pardon the pun,_ his brain supplies unhelpfully, though reassuringly like something the old Dean would say out loud. He’s ready to storm out, nothing like a good exit, when Cas is gripping his arm, fingers crushingly tight.

“Is that what you think?” Castiel replies, eyes wide, looking so young.

“It’s what I have to think,” He corrects, mind spinning. “Do you have any idea how much I want you right now? Any idea at all?” He shakes his head, a bitter smile on his lips. He’s being deliberately confrontational, hoping to shock the angel into leaving. But there’s no reaction at all. Not the one he was hoping for anyway. Castiel’s jaw twitches. His lips pressed together tightly. But his expression is on lockdown.

“It’s fine,” He says, yanking his arm free of Castiel‘s grip. “No it’s ok, don’t say anything. I’ll just go and find some unsuspecting woman for an unpleasant night of ridiculously frustrating sex yeah?” He’s only half serious, but now Cas looks angry, as angry as Dean feels. He grabs Dean’s arm again before he can get away. He thinks he’ll have a bruise from that grip.

“No Dean.” He orders voice low and commanding. “I won’t let you keep hurting yourself in this way. The mark is driving you crazy.”

“ _You’re_ driving me crazy.” Dean mutters childishly, refusing to meet Cas’ eyes. He knows Cas wants him, he said as much, so why torment him like this?

“I don’t understand why you’d want me.” It comes out quietly, a low admittance of vulnerability that has Dean looking up, wondering if he’d really heard it. Did Cas read his thoughts? Cas looks so conflicted. Lost. Dean is gone. Gone, gone, gone…

“We’re going round in circles Cas. I always want you. You’re _you._ ” It slips out so easily, same as before, though weary and defeated this time. Loving Cas will always be his curse, something he knows he cannot change. Even when it hurts. Which it does most of the time if he’s honest. He knows he will never admit this out loud. Loving someone makes you vulnerable, exposed. Want is far simpler.

Something passes over Cas’ expression. Something like realisation. He reaches out slowly, as though confronting a wild animal, which maybe Dean is. But he gently cups Dean’s cheek, trails cool but slightly rough fingertips across his cheekbone. Dean’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation, conflicting emotions battling to defeat the other. Cas’ touch is soothing, like a cold compress to his fevered mind. It also excites deeply. He lets out a long sigh, shakily.

“I can’t watch you drive yourself crazy like this. Can’t see you suffer.” He feels Castiel’s breath ghost across his face, that’s how close the angel is. It makes him tremble with want. His hands slip away from Dean’s face, trail down his arms so he can lightly take Dean’s hands in own. When Dean opens his eyes, he sees Cas glaring at the cuts across his knuckles as if they’d personally offended him. A warm glow, unconnected to lust for once, flows through Dean’s hands at the contact. The skin starts to knit back together.

“Thanks.” He says quietly as the sting fades. They meet each other’s gaze for once. And Dean knows it’s going to be one of those stupidly long stares that neither of them openly acknowledges, only this time he won’t have the strength to just walk away. 

Cas’ eyes are blue. Ridiculously blue, deep, sweet, honest, hopeful and ancient. Dean feels like he’s barely scratched the surface of the (not) man before him, who is still holding his hands by the way. Cas is kind of goofy, he realises. He’s starting to feel hopeful. Stupidly hopeful…

That is hope rewarded when Castiel kisses him. And it’s hungry this time, something eager in the movements, though still careful, measured. It’s real. His mouth is clumsy but determined. There’s something so authoritative in the way Cas kisses, the way he holds him, like he’s on a mission. Dean grips his arms with shaking hands, his own kisses nothing short of desperate, ridiculously grateful. As he licks his way into Cas’ mouth, sucks gently, nips at his lip, wanting everything at once. 

“Dean,” It’s a stunned growl, a warning.

“Help me.” Dean says, though it’s more of an order even though a part of him knows that’s unfair. He’s using the mark, this terrible burden, to seduce his friend. He knows Cas can’t watch him hurting like this. Knows he has very little defences against giving Dean what he wants. And right now he wants this, exactly this.

He’s pulling Cas to the floor before he’s even given his body permission to do so, crawling into his lap, grinding already, achingly hard. The angel looks startled, transfixed by every sensation gasping against his lips. It’s too fast but it’s what he needs right now. It’s not how he’d wistfully imagined their first time would be. A part of him wanted romance, nothing he would ever admit out loud. But admittedly this feels perfect. Cas’ hands, the friction, the matching hardness where Cas needs him too - and that’s so incredible he wants to touch. He settles for bucking against Cas, writhing so close it shivers over the line of comfort into burning desperation. 

“Dean,” Cas chokes out again. It sounds too much like that voice. The voice. The stunned way Cas said his name after not-Ezekiel brought him back from the dead. He shakes his head, grasps at Castiel harder. The thought made his mouth go dry, made him feel that panic, that anguish and memory of sheer terror. He doesn’t want to think about seeing a lifeless Cas ever again. 

He’s kissing those full lips again, trying to crawl into him, Cas’ hands rest on his back, clenching. He rocks into the weight beneath him, causing them both to moan.

When Cas pulls away to look at him with startled eyes, blown pupils, he practically sobs from the loss of contact. Buries his face in the warm crook of the angel’s neck and just breathes, tries to slow this train down. He feels those hands stroke the back of his neck. 

“It’s ok. This is fine… Dean?” Castiel’s rumble of a voice goes right through him and he has to bite his lip to stop himself moaning, burying his face against him, until they are a mess on the padded floor of the bunker’s gym. Castiel sounded so breathless, so vulnerable as if he was trying to be sure. “You’re allowed to want, Dean. You’re allowed to feel this.”

That sounds dangerously close to ‘feelings’ talk so Dean has to try a new tactic then, mouths at the vulnerable skin of his neck in mute desperation. He needs to get closer, even though their bodies are so tightly pressed together. Cas’ legs open wider to accommodate Dean. He scrapes teeth along a tendon until Cas is gasping, writhing, hands clenching at the damp fabric of his back, twisting the material. He kisses his pulse point, where the blood beats hot and fast. Cas has never felt so human and something primal within Dean responds to that as the angel tilts his head back in acquiescence. 

“Th-The mark may… amplify what you’re feeling-” He breaks off, gasps loudly when Dean sucks at the skin. “Oh Dean! You’re allowed this...”

He bites down harder than he means to, but softens it by sucking on the skin, soothing with his tongue. Castiel grunts, gasps out his name reproachfully. He couldn’t help it. Wanted to stop him, mark him which is ridiculous. Castiel cannot be bruised. He pulls back, suddenly horrified, to no longer be in control…

“I’m sorry. I can’t-” Can’t stop. Can’t be gentle. His hips are still moving, seeking the firmness of Castiel’s body even as his mind tells him ‘no’. He’s shockingly hard and knows Cas can feel it.

“It doesn’t matter.” Cas gasps out, lips swollen. It’s not the only part of him that is, a thrilling prospect. “You push down everything for so long…”

“This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be treating you like this.” Dean interrupts. He whines low in his throat when he finds Castiel’s matching hardness, and presses down into it. That’s incredible. That’s for him. Cas groans and that’s even better. He’s practically sobbing at how good it feels and thinks this may be over embarrassingly quick.

“Sssshh…” Cas soothes him, hands in his hair, resting their foreheads together. Castiel is panting too. “Put it all on me. I’m here for you. I’m yours.”

His fine sense of control snaps at that. He pulls back, wriggles out of his damp shirt, practically tears it, eyes on Cas. He does tear Castiel’s shirt in his haste to push it open, expose the angel before him like an offering. He pushes his shirt, jacket, coat off. There’s something so animalistic in the satisfaction at the sight before him. Cas, vulnerable. Spread open beneath him. He wants to bury himself within him…

But he won’t. His patience is too thin to be gentle. He’s no longer in control of his actions. Their first time, Dean within him, needs to happen when the mark is gone.

He realises this sadly, as he runs his hands over the smooth planes of Castiel’s chest experimentally, thoughtfully. Cas’ breath quickens, skin pebbling, eyes fixed on Dean through lowered lashes.

“What is it?”

He lowers his mouth to Cas’ stomach, kisses carefully, reining himself in. He leaves a trail of kisses leading up to the hot skin of Cas’ sternum, tastes his heart beat with his tongue. He’s still amazed he has one. Cas squirms, gasps. Grips at Dean’s hair. This conjures a powerful image in Dean’s mind of reversed positions, as he takes a hardened peak of a nipple into his mouth before sucking hard, less gentle and polite than he would usually be.

“Dean!” It only makes him smile more, the way Cas is gasping, squirming, almost as impatient as he has been. Almost as frustrated. But he’s enjoying exploring Cas’ body, very much so. The salt taste of him, the rhythm their bodies make, rubbing hips together ceaselessly. He moves to the other nipple, scrapes his teeth along it, makes Cas writhe, buck up, pant. The friction against his aching cock is too much. He presses his cheek against Cas’ slightly damp chest, moans.

“I’m supposed to be helping you.” Cas reminds him, his voice is like gravel and it only makes things worse.

“Then help me.” He repeats once more, murmuring into the angel’s skin.

The miles of exposed body shift underneath him as Cas wriggles to sit up. His hand finds Dean’s chin, tilts his head up so he can look at him with those knowing eyes. Sweat has pooled on his upper lip and Dean just has to taste it. The kiss lingers for a very long time, Dean still writhing in his lap like a cat. There’s an edge of the surreal to it all. Dean can’t believe he has him like this. Finally.

“What do you want me to do?” Cas asks once he’s pulled away and Dean’s cheeks flame at that. How can he say what he needs, now, right now…

Pointedly, he reaches out, traces the sheen of Cas’ lower lip with his thumb, before slipping it inside. Obediently, Cas sucks a little, making Dean grunt, has him panting, heart racing. He sees the moment Cas works out the significance. His eyes sharpen, focus, then deftly, he pulls back so he can lower Dean to the floor. He’s surprisingly gentle, dangerously strong and it’s all Dean can do not to fight the instinct to resist being submissive. Not that Cas is dominating him exactly. He falls back willingly, Cas pillowing his head with his hand for a moment before withdrawing.

He closes his eyes. Feels like he may combust or do something very embarrassing if Cas doesn’t act soon. He gets lost in the sensation. Cas kisses down his chest, quickly, not teasing. He caresses his body with rough fingers against sensitive skin, making him moan.

But then the hands are on his belt, unbuckling, unbuttoning, pulling his jeans down so he is no longer confined. His eyes shoot open when Cas’ hand gingerly wraps around him, over-stimulating against the cotton of his boxers. He leaks into the material, so eager.

Cas is crouched atop his legs, something curious, almost mischievous in his expression. Dean doesn’t know whether to kiss or punch him. “Cas!” He barks, nearly yelps when the hand shifts minutely.

“You like this?” the pad of his thumb shifts over the damp patch causing Dean’s breath to catch, he bites his lip to keep from swearing.

“Please Cas. Just help. Please.” Now he’s pleading, begging, and that would be humiliating if he wasn’t’ past the point of caring. 

Castiel, to his credit, does not gloat, or even smile triumphantly. His eyes look serious, as if he’s been handed a trial from God instead of the task of getting Dean off, he thinks. Then feels a brief flicker of shame at the blasphemy at the thought. It’s so wrong but his body even likes that in this messed up state he’s in. His cock pulses in Cas’ grip, and that’s all it takes to make the angel react.

And it’s one hell of a reaction. Not one he’s remotely ready for. The angel peels Dean’s underwear away slowly, spreads his legs open with cool, firm hands. Even the shock of cold air on his dick feels good right now. But before he can revel in it, before he can barely register the way he’s free, upright, ridiculously hard, the enveloping heat of Cas’ mouth takes him all the way in.

His eyes shoot open. He swears. He curses. He may even have chanted the full, in depth Latin of an exorcism, the way his brain was short-circuiting. Dean thinks he will be lucky to have any motor responses after this. Because this. The way Cas has him. His jeans are pushed down his thighs so he’s just a curve on the floor, exposed with Cas’ head moving between his legs. All that hair, his tanned hand wrapped around his base. Chin scratching delicate skin. Dean’s legs spasm helplessly, it’s all he can do not to scream as he digs his feet into the floor, spine curving in ecstasy.

Cas is worshiping his body. More blasphemy, he knows, but that’s how it feels. After the initial plunge, Cas smears kisses to the head, tongues the slit – a wet spike of sensation that has Dean sobbing. He laps at the head in interest, tasting, fascinated, before experimentally sucking at the springy tip, alternating with messy kisses. It feels wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Dean decides Cas needs a parade in his honour. He’s a fast learner. He’s _incredible_. Dean could practically cry at the promise of such sweet relief. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. It feels so good even though it shouldn’t be. He’s dragged Cas down to his level, never meant to. Caught in lust and the mark and his messed up world. He _loves him still._

When Dean bucks into that warm, wet cave, he effortlessly holds Dean’s hips down with the other hand, tempered angel-strength being put to good use. Dean would not be able to control himself in this state. He treats Dean’s movements as an annoying distraction from the task at hand, rather than viewing it as appalling bad manners, as anyone else would. Dean laughs hysterically at that, deep affection for the angel running through him beneath the insane fog of lust. It’s like he’s determined to learn, to please, to help Dean. He could cry from how good it feels as he takes him deeper, sucks gently. Then harder, bobbing up and down steadily at a slick, blinding pace. 

His hands find their way to Cas’ hair. But it doesn’t matter when your other half is ten times stronger. He can push down, or tug at the locks and it doesn’t affect him at all. Luckily. Dean knows at some point he will be horrified at the way he tried to use Castiel, attempting to forcefully buck into his generous, wonderful mouth. It’s not him. But Cas can stop him. Cas is going to save him. 

Right now, he can hear sounds that he’s only heard in porn. And it’s coming from him. One hand anchors itself to Cas’ thick hair, the other he uses to muffle his moans.

Cas knows how to do this. And well. He doesn’t care how, or when. His wet, warm mouth offers sweet relief when it was too much. Has anyone ever done more for him? And it’s Castiel. Another layer of unreality that doesn’t feel true. It’s surreal – everything he ever wanted, though not like this. One possessive thought buzzes through his mind: he’s fucking Cas. His Castiel. 

Everything’s becoming wet and obscene. He’ll never forget the sounds of wet flesh on flesh, the sight before him. When he risks a peek he can see Cas has leaned back a bit. He can see those damp lips, wrapped around him, the soft curve of lashes against his cheek. He thinks the angel may be humming with concentration a little. It’s too much. He’s too slick as Cas moves up and down, taking him deeper, sucking, pulling, fucking _clenching_ his throat. Do angels breathe? 

He loves him. He knows it. It may have slipped out, between the babble and the begging. The groans and snarls. The cries of “Yes!” “Cas!” “Mine!” “Fuck!” and “Please!” “S-so Good.” It’s all he can say, a constant cycle. 

He’s sobbing when Cas pulls harder, takes him deeper. He wishes this was something more. It occurs to him it could be. They have all the time in the world. This is just taking the edge of. If Castiel wants this from him, wants more from him, he can have it, take it. He is Castiel’s as much as Cas is able to be his. Cas is saving him in another way and he loves him more than ever for it. 

He babbles more swearwords. Apologises for needing this so damn badly, for always wanting this, for never being enough. A messy confession of love tumbles out earnestly, between begging him to continue and more moaning. 

His hips begin to stutter wildly and is occurs to him that Cas is letting him. Is allowing him this movement, to take what he needs. He thrusts into that soaking, tight heat and Cas just takes it. Looks up at him for a moment with wicked, burning blue eyes. Dean is sweating, sticking to the floor, His hands grip Cas’ hair so hard it must hurt. He’s thrusting up into Cas’ mouth and it’s as close to heaven as he’s going to get. Better. It’s too much. His stomach muscles tighten excitedly, whole body burning, tightened up. His pleasure is cresting, building so rapidly he’s being pulled over the edge and his hips jolt frantically, Cas practically intent on sucking him down his throat apparently, gripping his ass, lifting with all that strength, pulling him closer so Dean can grind into his mouth. His throat, wrapping round, squeezing. It’s indescribable. Blinding. Ecstasy. 

“Oh my God!” He near sobs. “Cas – gonna – might wanna…” 

It’s as much of a warning as he is capable of. Cas must know. He isn’t naïve enough not to know. Dean buries himself to the hilt, hips right off the floor, held by Cas’ hands, legs either side of his face, helplessly exposed. Dean comes down his throat with a guttural cry, violently claiming. 

There’s a few seconds of mind-bending bliss that expand into an eternity of white lights behind closed eyes, pleasure so sharp it blurs into pain, an unbearable, blissful release. 

He thinks he may have screamed, his throat actually burns and isn’t _that_ ironic? There’s no way Sam didn’t hear that if he’s home yet Dean can’t seem to care. He lies back on the floor, revelling in the few seconds where the desperate all-consuming need has faded. He stretches, sighs, sated. He stays spread out, a mess on the floor, shivering with the aftershocks, feeling hazy. When he finally summons up the courage to peek at Cas, he sees the angel is still straddling him, eyes wide, innocent (how? How can he still think that?) with a hint of satisfaction, as if he had just had _his_ mind blown to heaven. 

“Cas…” He doesn’t know what to say. Thank you? I’m sorry? That wasn’t how I wanted it to be be? None of them seem remotely adequate. 

“I know.” Cas says softly, voice no different than it ever was. Before Dean can protest or sigh with relief that he seems to understand all that - did Cas read his mind? – he swoops down, carefully angled to not press down where Dean’s still sensitive - and kisses him deeply, tenderly. He can taste himself on Cas’ tongue and isn’t that a turn on? Apparently so if the excited twist in his stomach is anything to go by. He tries to push it down, enjoy the moment of pure relief, but he can already feel the shame setting in. The way he took Castiel… 

“Did I hurt you?” Dean whispers, cupping Cas’ face, inches from his mouth. He feels it curve against his own in a smile and fights the urge not to smack him for being mocked. 

“I’m fine, Dean. You can’t hurt me.” He says patiently. Though not so sure about that, it’s a relief to hear all the same. 

“It’s fine to have what you want sometimes.” Cas whispers against his lips. “You’re a good man Dean Winchester.” 

“Shut up,” Dean murmurs, cheeks flushing, a goofy smile trying it’s very best to break free. He slides his hands down Cas’ back teasingly, until he finds that wonderful ass. He palms the enticing shape through his trousers and pushes him down so they can lie flush together. Cas grunts with surprise. He is still shamelessly easy to distract. And very hard too. 

“You deserve this.” Cas continues, gasping a little. Dean surges up, kisses him while his hands slide to the front so they can get to work on his belt buckle. “You deserve good things.” 

Dean kisses him roughly to cut him off. But Cas breaks away and continues: “I’ll be here to help you through this. I’ll stay with you.” 

It’s Cas’ turn to whimper when Dean finally manages to slip his hand inside, finds that warm, leaking hardness, squeezes in a way he knows is just right. Castiel gasps against him, clasps his arms. He looks beautiful in pleasure. 

“And I will always be here to help you,” He answers, voice low and mischievous, though he means every word. 

He makes Cas follow him all the way down. 


End file.
